The Jedi Code Mysteries
by YodaBreaker
Summary: An irregularly updated series of crackfic stories, taking a twistedly humorous look at the lives of the Jedi, using mysteries of the monthish to highlight absurdities of the Jedi Code, a la The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Anakin, ObiWan, & more!
1. Prologue

The following stories are my best attempt at crackfic. They are intermittently updated chronicles from the adventures of the Jedi in the prequel era, twisted through the lens of Douglas Adams and other wonderful sci-fi satirists whose luminous prose I can only hope to emulate.

Herein lies a shattered, cracked, massaged, rearranged, and altogether thoroughly worked over version of the Jedi Code. Bizarre images of your favorite Jedi may be recognized through the mangled looking glass, with their faults and foibles magnified for all of the galaxy to point and snigger at. Each story comprises a mini-mystery, which serves as an excuse to lampoon our beloved Jedi.

However, these characters and worlds are, at root, still the George's playthings, with which he indulges us all by not suing us mercilessly. Praise be to George. And all his teachings. And all his razzle-dazzle filled works.

Let us bask in the benevolence of George as you learn a twisted history of the Jedi Order, and I exorcise my punny demons.


	2. ObiWan, Anakin, and the Crimson FWord

**Obi-Wan, Anakin, And the Crimson F-Word**

**Whereupon Obi-Wan and Anakin Are Reintroduced with Utmost Vulgarity**

It was crimson, scaled, gilled, finned, and fishy.

Obi-Wan looked quizzically at its ever less violent flopping on the desert spaceport's floor while his Padawan's nose crinkled in disgust.

"It is crimson."

"Yes, Master."

"And it has scales."

"Yes, Master."

"And gills."

"_Yes_, Master."

"And fins."

"**Yes**, Master!"

By this time, Anakin was quite non-plussed. His master apparently had a gift for stating only the obvious.

"What could it be?"

Was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi extraordinaire, really that dull? "A fish, Master?" At least now Anakin could preface Master with something besides Yes.

"A..._fish_." Obi-Wan simply could not believe that his Padawan had let the f-word fly. And now he himself had compounded the insult to the galaxy's dignity by repeating it.

Section XXII.B.2 of the Jedi Code disallows the use of words that are considered to be impolite, incourteous, or curses of any form, except in the most dire of circumstances, including (but not limited to) dueling with a Sith lord, meeting a Gungan, or finding out that your lightsaber blade's color makes you appear a bit fey. Curiously, Obi-Wan Kenobi categorically did _not_ believe that running across a creature whose very name represented one of the most hateful curses in existence constituted a dire circumstance.

"Yes, Master." Bugger! Anakin had gone and said it again! Better than saying the f-word, though.

"Use your feelings, Anakin – something is out of _place_ here!"

"Yes, Master. Like a fish coated in sand in a desert?" Anakin's bored insouciance was now alloyed with pure filth. And the f-word.

Section XXI.A.3 of the Jedi Code states that a Padawan should always address the Jedi under whose care she or he finds himself as Master, even if said Jedi is only a Knight in actual rank. This provision was included in the Code at the behest of several thousand temperamental Knights who, wanting more respect from their increasingly errant charges, also realized that they outnumbered actual Masters in the Jedi Order by a ratio of approximately 3.7529 to 1.1142.

Because Section XV.C.15 of the Jedi Code states that any amendment to the Jedi Code may be passed by a three-quarters majority vote of all active Jedi, the Knights handily added this proviso to the Code, despite a vote that went almost nearly down the rank lines. Thus, the collective ego of the Jedi swelled immensely, creating a light side bubble that crowded the dark side right out of Coruscant for a millennium.

The only Masters who voted for it were Jifni Spigno and Plabu Domrek, whose former Padawans threatened to kill them in their sleep if they were to vote against it, so the Jedi Masters would have you believe. After all, the foolish Masters had taught their sometime apprentices everything they knew, so really, what use were they, anyway? The only Knight who voted against the amendment was one Teegeeack Scio, who was more than a bit mental. Despite all of his protestations that his unique brand of Force meditations cured him of all physical and psychological ailments, he raged strongly with the dark side whenever someone so much as glanced awkwardly in his general direction. Also, his teeth were rotting out, and he had grown quite a fizzbrew gut. The rest of the Knights killed him in his sleep. Or so the Jedi Masters would have you believe.

Obi-Wan assumed his well-worn befuddled expression, with a dash of irritation tossed about his brow line to taste. "Padawan, if I must admonish you _one more time_ to watch your language..."

"Yes, Master." Anakin cloaked his voice in a healthy obsequiousness. And used a bit of the Force to watch the air from his language flow around Obi-Wan's head and up his nostrils. He smirked about how happy he was that he had partaken of a particularly malodorous meal recently.

Perhaps fortunately for Obi-Wan, the acrid stench of the decaying f-word was far worse than anything that would ever pass down Anakin's gullet – the teacher acted as if nothing at all had happened. "That's much better. Now that we have deduced _what's_ out of place here, we must now deduce _why_ it is out of place."

"Yes, Master." Oh, how Anakin had grown to loathe that phrase.

"Have you any theories about how this..._creature_...managed to find its way here?" Obi-Wan could hardly contain his disgust as desert spanflies began crowding around the crimson corpse, making the most hideous serrated sawing sounds this side of left.

"Well, we were chasing the smuggler Tildo Merat across the Outer Rim to ask him about the recent upswing in illegal spice trade, right?"

"Yes, Padawan."

"And we had traced him to this very spaceport with the homing beacons I planted on his ship, right?"

"Yes, Padawan."

Anakin was enjoying this turn of the verbal tables. "And we were running after him through the crowd in the spaceport when we lost him, right?"

Obi-Wan's serene ignorance was becoming perturbed by Anakin's perseveration on the word _right_. "_Yes_, Padawan."

"And we found this..._creature_...at exactly the point we lost him in the crowd, right?"

"**Yes**, Padawan!"

Anakin paused and stroked his chin. Oh, how he longed for puberty, when he, too, could grow a beard to stroke absent-mindedly, just like his Master. Except, of course, he wouldn't actually be absent of mind, like his Master.

"I believe this may be a...red herring."

Obi-Wan cringed once again at his Padawan's foul mouth. Though the h-word was a far milder oath than the dreaded f-word, it was still an utterance hardly becoming of a Jedi. Obi-Wan's mind reeled at his pupil's dread vulgarity.

Anakin stroked his master's chin _en route_ to propping up Obi-Wan's drooping jaw. Oh, how he hated it when his master's mind became overloaded. Which didn't take much these days. At least this time, Anakin did not have to cleanse the corners of Obi-Wan's mouth of stupid-looking flecks or trails of spittle.

"Obviously, Master, it was placed here to distract us. And it succeeded."

Suddenly, Obi-Wan's jaw snapped shut like the durasteel trap his mind was not. "Of course! We've been distracted this whole time!"

Anakin smacked his head in an ecstasy of frustration. Still, Obi-Wan prattled on.

"So, logically, we follow the footsteps around the fi...distraction..." Obi-Wan's facial muscles tensed, then relaxed as he averted a near-curse.

"...until we find..." Anakin tried to pick up where his airily-brained master left off.

"...until we find...the tracks of the smuggler!" Obi-Wan's face lit up in a giddy grin of glee.

"Except for one problem." Anakin pointed to the sand swirling around them.

Obi-Wan glanced from sand to sand, from air to ground, and brought his hand to his chin. This time, his jaw would stay firmly in place. "Of course! This might have been a flying fish!"

Obi-Wan's hand was hardly sufficient to contain his rapidly descending mandible. Even Anakin's masseters were inadequate to restrain his own maw's gape. Section XXII.B.3 of the Jedi Code forbids the use of the double f-word under all but the most dire of circumstances, including (but not limited to) the following: escaping a sun that is going nova, fleeing an onslaught of no less than three enemy capital ships, running away from extreme flatulence of the most elderly Jedi Masters, and needing to take on an entire enemy battle station after emerging from smuggler's compartments in the ship on which one has booked passage. The last listing was nearly voted down in committee as being entirely too implausible to be worth mentioning, but Plabu Domrek insisted on its inclusion as a warning about just how improbable a circumstance must be to warrant the use of the double f-word.

And clearly, this was hardly _that_ improbable of a situation.

In a far more probable turn of events, Anakin regained his composure faster than the perpetually stunned Obi-Wan. "No, Master. The swirling winds will have obliterated any tracks that the smuggler would have left. So, how else could we find a smuggler who obviously doesn't want to be found?"

Obi-Wan's open-mouthed stare was of no assistance, though it collected an impressive amount of sand about his tongue, which now looked like a swollen slug buried beneath a desert dune. That reeked of fish. Because of the unremitting odor that now clung to the two Jedi.

Anakin puzzled it out for himself. "So, if the...distraction...leaves behind a unique and distressing scent, and that stench clings to whatever it touches, then by all rights, the smuggler must smell like..."

"A duck!" Obi-Wan uselessly chimed in.

"An f-word, Master. Let's wander around in the crowd and use our Force sniffers to find someone who is swathed in f-word stench!"

"Of course!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. The pair endured the bombardment of billions of grains of sand against their delicate nasal membranes as the Force guided their noses toward the nearest throng of otherworldy denizens. Soon enough, their sand-pelted nostrils honed in on the especial odeur of an unassuming, yet vaguely dashing figure who did his best to blend in - as much as one reeking of fish can ever blend into a crowd, rather than repulse it. And thus was the narrator led to run madly in a vain search for a shower.


End file.
